


40 Seconds

by devil_in_kind



Category: Sanders Sides (Web Series)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Human, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Anxiety, Depressed!Patton, Depression, Gen, Heavy Angst, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Kinda, M/M, Professor!Thomas, Student!Patton, Suicide, Suicide Attempt, as happy as it can end anyway lol, but lets be real any 'plot twist' i try is too easy to see through anyway, but you probably shouldn't read this if you struggle with any of this shit seriously, gets kinda dark, stay safe yall, student!Virgil, student!logan, student!roman, this is a vent fic, y'all i should put more in the tags but i don't want to spoil shit, you'll see what i mean but anyway
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-10
Updated: 2019-02-03
Packaged: 2019-09-15 09:16:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 7
Words: 8,849
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16930533
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/devil_in_kind/pseuds/devil_in_kind
Summary: Patton Miller doesn't want to live anymore. Life has never been good to him, and he's tired all the time. He just wants everything to stop - so he decides to commit suicide, by jumping off an old, abandoned bridge near his college's campus.Only, he runs into a slight problem when he meets Virgil Black, who is there for the same reason.





	1. Chapter 1

Patton sucked in a shuddering breath and watched it blow away like smoke in the wind as he exhaled. He hadn’t been afraid a minute ago, but now he couldn’t breathe right. What changed?

The night sky was clear, but for a few fluffy silver silhouettes of lone clouds. The moon was out tonight—a big, beautiful third quarter. He could pick out every constellation he knew in the sky. It was as if the stars were glimmering just a bit brighter, a bit clearer tonight for him. A sad send-off from whichever god happened to be watching.

Patton felt isolated, alone on the bridge. He was grateful for it. Feeling isolated in a crowd is so different from feeling isolated when you’re on your own. In crowds, it’s much worse—it’s as if everybody’s got strings tying them to one another, and you have none. You are nothing but an imposter in a sea of people; only a shadow in a skin suit trying to hold yourself together. But when you’re alone, you’re meant to be isolated—your only company lies in the shadows in kind. Being alone is a lot less lonely than being seen.

The water below was black like obsidian, white-tipped waves thundering into the sides of the cliffs and dissipating into pale sea foam. On either end of the bridge, the crumbling road vanished into thick woods, and when a cold wind chased through the air, Patton could hear the trees sigh.  
It was too beautiful a night for what he was about to do.

The stark fact of the matter was this: Patton had come to kill himself. But now, as he sat on the edge of the bridge, he questioned whether or not he had the willpower to go through with it.

“Going down?”

“What the—?” Patton’s eyes snapped open, his hands instinctively snatching at the handrail. He looked upwards, and found the source of the unfamiliar voice sitting on an old iron beam ten feet above him.

“Have you been there the whole time?” Patton seethed through his teeth, clutching one hand over his racing heart.

The figure snorted. “I’ve been here for awhile now.” They swung their legs over the side of the beam and dropped down, landing near-silently on the metal grate of the walkway. Now that they were closer, Patton got a better look—he was about the same age as him, with matted black hair and skin so pale it was practically blue. His face was grim and gaunt. He wore an oversized hoodie, and dark moons hung beneath his glassy, haunted eyes.

“What do you want?” Patton snapped, standing up straight and brushing imaginary dust off his sleeves.

“Same thing as you, slick,” The stranger sat down abruptly and began swinging his legs over the edge of the abyss. “Unless you want to stargaze. In that case, we’re definitely not here for the same reason.”

“Just my luck,” Patton muttered. “The night I finally decide to end it all, the bridge I want to jump off is already occupied.”

"Sorry to ruin your evening for you.”

Patton scowled. “That’s morbid, and not funny.”

“Sorry. Guess you’re not one for gallows humor.”

 

There was a moment of silence. The temperature had dropped—Patton pulled his cardigan tighter around his shoulders. He glanced at the stranger and shivered. _Creepy_.

“Who even are you?” Patton stuffed his hands in his pockets.

“Virgil Black.” He saluted with two of his fingers. “How’s it hangin? No pun intended.”

“Wouldn’t you know?” Patton rolled his eyes. “I thought we were here for the same reason, since I’m not stargazing and all.”

“Yeah, well,” Virgil shrugged, “It’s different for everybody. We’re here for the same result—doesn’t mean we got here the same way.”

“How poetic.”

“I try my best.”

 

Patton looked down at his shoes. “It’s nothing. I’m probably just being dramatic.”

“I’m always dramatic,” Virgil said drily, “Doesn’t make me any farther away from the edge of this bridge.”

Patton chuckled humorlessly, “I guess you’re right. It’s just…” He sighed. “It’s just a lot of little things. Nothing big enough for it to count, but I’m here anyway.”

Virgil nodded. “Enough little things will do that. But, just because they’re little things, doesn’t mean they can’t be overwhelming. You can’t call it a chip on your shoulder anymore when there are enough chips to hold the weight of the sky.”

Patton snorted. “How much poetry praise do you need?”

“As much as I can get.” A cheshire grin played across Virgil’s lips and disappeared.

Somehow, Patton found the energy to smile back. He was tired of standing, so he sat next to Virgil and joined him in swinging his legs over the edge.

“So,” Patton murmured, “What about you? What got you here tonight?”

Virgil didn't seem to mind the prying. “Oh, you know,” He rolled his eyes, “Global warming, society is crumbling, no one matters, nothing you do will be remembered, existence is pain and life is meaningless, people are dicks, anxiety, depression, and homophobia, to name a few.”

“Homophobia? You’re gay too?” Patton blinked.

Virgil gave him a deadpan look, “Anybody else who looks like me is either extraordinarily emo, or a gay mess.”

“And you’re gay.”

“I’m both.”

Patton laughed then—a clear, free sound he hadn’t heard come from his own mouth in awhile. Virgil smiled, and for a moment he didn’t look so eerie, so hollow. It didn’t last very long.

 

“You go to East Valley University?” Virgil looked away again.

“Yeah. Living on campus. How about you?”

Virgil shrugged, “Technically I go there, but I haven’t been to class in awhile. I don’t know if I’m still considered a part of the student body.”

“You sound like quite the rebel.”

“So I’ve been told.”

“Why don’t you go to class?”

Virgil shrugged. “It’s stressful, exhausting, crowded—take your pick. I only ever went to college to get away from my dad. I never liked the idea of more education, even though college was definitely better than high school.”

“I know the feel,” Patton murmured.

Virgil gave him a look. “Are we bonding over daddy issues?”

“I think so. Is this a bar?”

Virgil leaned over, arching an eyebrow seductively, “Do you come here often?”

Patton rolled his eyes, “And we’re back to the suicide jokes.”

“We’ve come full circle!”

Patton couldn’t help but let out a snort.

 

“So,” Virgil leaned back against the handrail, looking at Patton expectantly, “What kind of ‘little’ things got you here?”

Patton chewed his lip, a nervous habit he thought he’d grown out of. “I’m tired,” He said softly. “My whole life, I’ve been putting in effort into things that never turned out to be worthwhile. And ahead of me, the future is a behemoth of problems and responsibilities, the same repeating miseries with no guaranteed happy outcome. All I wanted to do when I was younger was help people, but now I can barely help myself—so I do turn to others. Not out of generosity, but because solving their problems is easier than facing my own. And sometimes, I can’t even do that. Nothing I do is ever enough—I just want everything to be over.”

Virgil was silent for a moment, pondering this.

“Well,” He began, “I would hardly call those ‘little’ things. But I see what you mean.” Virgil turned to Patton and locked him in his intense stare, and under the glow of the moonlight, his gray eyes looked nearly purple. “But I have to ask you, before you jump—do you want to die? Or do you want to stop living?”

“I-I…” Patton trailed off, losing his voice. His chest was tight. He swallowed, “I’m not sure.”

Virgil tore his gaze away and focused back on the dark horizon, and Patton found he could breathe again. “Well,” Virgil continued, “There’s something to think about, I guess.”

“Yeah,” Patton murmured. He yawned, Virgil didn’t miss it.

 

“Maybe you should go home.” Virgil nudged Patton’s shoulder. “Get some sleep—no offense, but you look like you need it. What day is it tomorrow?”

“Sunday.”

“Perfect. Sleep in, have a big breakfast, think about this a little more. If you’re not thinking so clearly tonight, you’ll be glad you’re not a crunchy mess on the ocean floor. If you’re perfectly lucid, no one can stop you from coming back if you’re level-headed and still feeling like shit, yeah?”

Patton looked down. The sea glittered teasingly, black and white in the moonlight, daring him to jump. He didn’t say anything for a moment, then, “Yeah, okay.”

It was getting cold anyway, and he was tired, he could admit that much. Patton hoisted himself up and slipped between the handrails, safely on the right side of the bridge. Virgil followed suit, standing up, but he never crossed over to the other side. Patton frowned,

“What about you?”

“Me?” Virgil looked surprised Patton had even asked.

“Are you still going to…?” The question trailed off. It didn’t need to be finished.

Virgil shook his head. “Don’t worry about me. I think I’ll stay here just a little while longer—it’s nice out here.”

Patton nodded, a tide of relief sweeping through his stomach.

 

Virgil gave him another two-fingered salute, then jumped up, grabbed one of the bars, and swung like an acrobat, landing in a sitting position on one of the sturdier beams several feet up.

“Take care, Pat,” He called down. Patton nodded with a small smile.

 

Only on the drive home would Patton realize he never gave Virgil his name.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Patton goes to the bridge again. We get some more character mentions.

“You’re back.”

Patton jumped, then looked up and saw who had spoken, and scowled.

“So are you.” He slipped through the handrail bars and walked to the middle of the bridge, ignoring Virgil as he slid down the poles and trailed after him.

“I am,” Virgil conceded. “But I come here a lot. I don’t see you around often.”

“I don’t see you around _ever_.”

“Fair enough.”

 

Their voices echoed through the otherwise empty ravine. The late autumn chill seeped through Patton’s clothes, and he clenched his fingers to keep his hands from shaking. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Virgil approach and sit down on his right.

“So,” Virgil spared Patton a glance, “I’m guessing things haven’t gotten any better?”

Patton laughed bitterly. “What makes you say that?” He looked down at the water, a bloody, burning orange in the sunset. “I thought things might improve after the heavy workload lifted. Misplaced hope, as usual.”

Virgil nodded. “I know the feel. What happened?”

Patton glowered and leaned back against the handrails. “Nothing. It’s stupid.”

“So? C’mon, lay it on me.”

Patton breathed out a sigh, and sunk to a sitting position in defeat. Virgil didn’t give him any sympathetic looks, which he was grateful for.

“It’s my roommate,” He finally said. “Logan Smith. I’ve had the biggest crush on him ever since I met him, but it’s like he doesn’t even notice me.”

Virgil whistled, “Wow. I _definitely_ know that feel. Twelfth grade, Remy Simmons. Didn’t work out. Anyway, continue.”

“I’m way too awkward to tell him I like him. I’ve tried everything I know, from cooking for him to complimenting him—dropping hints is useless, they go right over his head. I thought I might have been getting somewhere for awhile. But then some goddamn _theater major_ saunters over and asks him out for coffee, and suddenly they’re going steady.” He put his face in his hands and groaned, “The worst part about it is that he’s not even mean! He’s so _nice_ and _funny_ and _genuine_ that I can’t even be mad at him for it! I want Logan to be happy, but…” He bit his lip, “Sometimes I just wish he could be happy with me instead. And now he won’t even give me the time of day.”

“Ouch.” Virgil winced, “Unrequited love is bad enough, but that’s just salt on an open wound. I’m sorry.”

“Yeah, well,” Patton looked away, “He’s not wrong to ignore me. He deserves to be with somebody good for him—somebody worth something.”

 

Virgil put a hand out, “I’m gonna stop you right there. You see what you’re doing right now, right?”

Patton frowned, “What?”

“You can’t live for another person. You can’t base your worthiness on what they see in you, that’s not how it works. You can have a crush on him, and you can feel sad he doesn’t like you back, but you can’t die because of it. Dying for another person who isn’t willing to die for you isn’t a good enough reason.”

“Not a good enough reason to kill myself?” Patton asked incredulously.

Virgil looked at him, and that petrifying gray gaze glued Patton in place. “No,” Virgil said, and somehow Patton knew that was the final word on it. Then Virgil blinked, and Patton blinked, and they both looked out onto the horizon, where the sun had finally set and edges of blueish-black were starting to creep in on the last of the daylight.

 

“So,” Virgil said, startling Patton, “Who’s this ‘goddamn theater major’ that stole your man?”

“Roman,” Patton sagged. “Roman Reese.”

“Roman the theater major,” Virgil hummed in consideration. Finally, he said, “He sounds like a douche.”

“Virgil!” Patton smacked Virgil lightly, “Don’t be mean!”

“What?” Virgil laughed, “He’s not here. Besides, if he’s as nice as you say he is, I doubt he’s coming to kick my ass.”

Patton tried to hide his smile and failed miserably.

“What does Logan major in?”

“Environmental sciences.”

Virgil nodded, “Somehow, I’m not surprised you’re into nerds. Hey, you want some good news?”

“What?”

“It’s probably a fling. Those two will have fun for awhile, but the feelings will wear off faster than a temporary tattoo. They’re too different. Theater majors are too self-absorbed, and science majors are too distant. You know what’s even better news?”

“What?”

“You’re a very empathetic and understanding person. I think you stand a real chance with him if you ever make a move once he’s over Ramen, or whatever is name was.” Virgil shrugged, “Don’t bet all your money on it, but those are the patterns I’ve seen over the years. And besides,” He added, “If you can’t catch him, any other boy would be crazy for you. From what I’ve seen of you, you’re a great guy. I know for a fact that other people see it too.”

 

Patton nodded, trying to blink away the tears in his eyes. Somewhere during Virgil’s tangent, he’d let himself get emotional.

“T-Thanks,” He stuttered. Virgil ignored the tears and nodded impassively, almost imperceptibly as Patton began to cry. Patton was grateful to not feel humiliated by his emotions. After a few minutes of silence, with the exception of Patton’s occasional hiccup, Virgil rummaged around in his pockets. To Patton’s great surprise, he came up with a purple handkerchief, which he passed it to him. Patton wiped his eyes, then his nose.

“Keep it.” Virgil gestured to the cloth, “I guess it’s a gift.”

“You’re too nice,” Patton sniffled, a watery smile stretching its way across his mouth. “I’m sorry I get emotional so easily.”

“Don’t be.” Virgil shrugged, “It’s no problem.” He stuck a hand in his pocket again, this time coming up with a fun-sized Hershey’s bar. He handed it to Patton, and pulled another one out for himself. “It’s probably exhausting for you, though,” He mused, opening the wrapper.

 

Patton stared at the chocolate. “Do you always have random candy bars in your pockets?”

“I like chocolate. What’s the point in having some if you don’t have enough to share?”

“Wise words,” Patton nodded sagely. Virgil rolled his eyes in amusement, but his face soon turned unreadable once again.

“Are you still thinking about jumping tonight?” He asked.

Patton paused. He saw dusk creeping into the sky, he felt the bridge beneath him, he smelled the earthy, pine-rich scent around them. He heard nothing but his own breathing, his own heartbeat.

“No,” He said finally. He glanced at Virgil, “You should work at a hotline. You’d be great.”

Virgil snorted. “Hardly. The callers would be like ‘I want to die!’, and I’d be like, ‘Me too!’, then hang up.”

Patton giggled, then felt bad for laughing, then saw Virgil’s face and giggled again. “Seriously though,” He continued, “Thank you. I don’t know if you could tell by how you’ve saved my life twice, but it means a lot to me.”

 

Virgil almost smiled. Patton could see it in the way his eyes crinkled, in the way his jaw relaxed, in the way he brought his hand halfway to his mouth and then back down again. He was struck with the sudden thought that he’d hardly ever seen Virgil smile, much less without any bitterness or cynicism.

“Yeah, well…” Virgil fidgeted, “…What are friends for, right? Drive safe, Pat. I’ll see you around.”

Patton’s heart leapt in his chest, and he tried to keep a steady face as his mind screamed ‘ _Friend! Friend! He called you his friend!_ ’. He managed to nod without looking like a dork and slipped back through the handrails.

But he grinned like an idiot all the way home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm kinda sad rn. anybody have any sad song recs? <3


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> merry crisis to those who celebrate, happy holidays to those who don't, treat yo self to everybody.
> 
> (short chapter. whatevs lol. thx for the music recs last chapter everybody <3)

Patton’s thoughts were scrambled eggs, like the meal on the plate before him. They jumbled together, each combination of ideas more unhelpful than the last, and he pushed his food around on his plate and sighed.

“Something troubling you, Patton?” Logan said, walking in.

“Hm?” Patton looked up, saw Logan, and quickly looked down at his breakfast again. “It’s nothing. I was just thinking.”

“What about, if I may ask?”

“Oh. Um.” He wasn’t expecting the conversation to carry this far—it hardly ever did nowadays. “It’s—well, I made a new friend a little while back.”

“Oh?” Logan looked genuinely interested, and Patton’s heart fluttered.

“Yeah. He’s kind of cynical, but he’s really nice. His name is Virgil. It’s nice to have a friend, but…” He sighed. “I can’t help but feel like I’m messing it up already.”

Logan’s brow furrowed. “How so? This seems… unlikely.”

Patton sighed again. “I’ve known him for nearly two months, but we’ve only seen each other twice. I don’t want to be distant, but he’s got anxiety, so suffocating him seems worse. I’m not sure what to do—I don’t want him to think I don’t care.”

 

Logan hummed in thought. “The best course of action would be to ask him what makes him comfortable. If your new friend ‘Virgil’ does not desire frequent face-to-face interaction, perhaps a primarily virtual or online camaraderie would suit your relationship more comfortably.”

Patton’s mood lightened considerably, and he beamed at Logan. “Perfect! I’ll just get his number next time we talk. You’re a genius, Lo!”

Logan’s face flushed pink. “Yes, well,” He coughed. “You’re very kind.”

Patton hoped he wasn’t blushing as furiously as he felt he was. There was a beat of silence, which was quickly picked up by Logan again,

“Your friend, Virgil. Have I met him before?”

“I don’t think so.” Patton said absentmindedly, “He doesn’t go to class often, and I’m not even sure he lives on-campus. I’ve only ever seen him at the bridge.”

Logan chuckled, like he was sharing an inside joke with himself. “Amarum Bridge?”

“Yeah.” Patton looked at Logan curiously, “How did you know?”

Logan’s expression twisted in a way Patton hadn’t seen on him before, but recognized immediately—surprise. Logan cleared his throat noisily,

“Lucky guess, I suppose. The issue with your friend has been resolved, then?”

“Oh! Oh. Yes, of course,” Patton stumbled over his words. “Thanks for the advice.”

“It was no trouble,” Logan reassured, standing up straighter. “I am always happy to impart wisdom upon those who seek it. Now, I apologize, but I must be leaving. Roman and I have a ‘coffee date’ planned.” He used the air quotes gingerly.

Patton’s insides twisted in on themselves, but he managed to smile all the same.

“Have fun!” He said.

Logan smiled a small smile, nodded, and left.

Patton looked at his eggs again. Suddenly, he wasn’t hungry at all.

 


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just some funsies for Virgil and Patton :)  
> Also I'm running out of pre-written chapters so lol rip me I'm gonna have to do a ton of writing now

Patton didn’t know what he was doing here.

His car reached the crest of the hill, and he pulled to the side of the road just in front of the bridge. It was the middle of the day, the sun was glaring down on him, and, for once, he wasn’t here to jump.

 

Virgil wouldn’t be here. Of course Virgil wouldn’t be here. Unlike Patton, he probably had a life, and did things on weekends. Why on Earth would he be here, today, right now? But, to Patton’s embarrassment, he’d never seen Virgil anywhere but here—he had nowhere else to look.

He argued back and forth with himself if it was even worth it to get out of the car. Eventually he decided on yes, because what could it hurt to try? Patton got out of his car and stood at the base of the bridge.

“Hello?” He said hesitantly. Then, “Hello?” A little louder.

The only answer was the echo of his own voice. Patton bit his lip and immediately felt like an idiot—this was a stupid idea in the first place.

 

“Patton?”

Patton stifled a squeal and jumped around. There, standing next to his car, was Virgil—sopping wet and looking surprised to see him. His hoodie was off—he was wringing it out in front of him. He wore a plain, white undershirt, and Patton tried not to stare at his arms—rows upon rows of scars, some small and white, others ugly red welts. Patton had a few of his own, though not nearly as many.

Virgil’s dark hair was plastered to his face. The shadows beneath his eyes remained dark as ever—Patton was beginning to think they might be a little too dark to be natural. Virgil picked the hair out of his face and slicked it back. It glistened in the sun.

“I didn’t think I would be having any company,” Virgil continued. “What’s up?”

 

“You’re here!” Patton blurted. “And… you’re wet?”  
Virgil raised an eyebrow, “Astute observation.”

Patton blushed even harder, if that were possible. “Sorry. I just wasn’t expecting you to be here—I-I mean, I’m glad you are, I was hoping you would be here, but I wasn’t sure that—well—“ His brain finally caught up with his rambling mouth, and his lips slammed shut. “I just wanted to see you,” He eventually mumbled.

 

Virgil froze where he stood. Patton was worried he might have offended him somehow, then Virgil said carefully,

“You came to see me?”

“Well, yeah.” Patton was biting his lip, nearly hard enough to draw blood. “That’s what… that’s what friends do, right?”

Virgil looked at him curiously. His gaze was intent, but his voice sounded far away when he finally said,

“Yeah. I guess so.” He shook his head, and water droplets flew everywhere. “Huh, I have a friend who comes to visit me. Cool.” He looked at Patton again, “How did you know I would be here?”

“I didn’t,” Patton admitted. “I just had no other place to look.”

Virgil hummed in appreciation. “Well, it looks like you made the right call.”

“Do I want to know why you’re wet?”

“Probably not.”

“Okay.”

 

They stood in awkward silence for a moment. Then Virgil walked onto the bridge, and gestured for Patton to follow him. He did so gladly. Virgil led him out to the middle of the bridge and slipped through the handrails, as per the norm. They sat on the ledge, dangling their legs into the abyss, and Virgil wrung out his hoodie again.

“So,” Virgil said slowly, “How does this work? I’m not exactly drowning in friends.”

Patton offered a smile, “We don’t have to plan anything—we can just chill here if you want.”

“Oh.” Virgil leaned back, relaxing. “Cool.”

 

After awhile, they fell into a comfortable rhythm of playing various card games (Patton found an old deck in his glovebox), snacking on various treats Virgil had lying around, and talking about life.

Patton discovered many things about Virgil that day. His favorite color was purple, he was fantastic at poker, he was a die-hard My Chemical Romance fan, he was deceptively smart, he liked old-school Disney movies, he never watched the news, and he didn’t have a cell phone (so much for _that_ idea).

But what Patton really learned was how good Virgil was at dodging questions. If ever the conversation strayed into personal-life territory, if ever Patton dared to ask him about himself, Virgil would crack a joke, or give a vague answer, or turn the question back around on Patton. Though Patton was enjoying their time together, this worried him. It was clear Virgil didn’t want to talk about it, and Patton didn’t want to pry, but he couldn’t help but feel concerned.

He also noticed that Virgil was very, very careful. Patton had been too preoccupied to notice before today; though Virgil seemed reckless and walked with that devil-may-care stride, every move he made was measured, precise, calculated. To Virgil himself, he was a perfectly balanced glass skeleton, and if the slightest breath knocked him off his axis, he would shatter.

And yet, when the sun hung low on the horizon, and the the striking orange illuminated Virgil’s face like a distant fire, Patton saw something different. Not something fragile, but something ethereal. Intangible. Phantasmal, even, almost like he wasn’t quite real _._

 

It was well into twilight when Virgil shuffled the deck and said,

“Last game?”

Patton’s chest ached, knowing their day together would soon be coming to a close, but he nodded. He had neglected to tell Logan where he was going—in fact, he had neglected to tell Logan he was ‘going’ at all. He didn’t want to worry him, so it was probably best he head back soon.

“How about War?” Virgil asked, snapping Patton out of his thoughts.

“War?” He echoed.

“It’s another card game. Easy enough to understand, but it takes awhile to finish. You down?”

“Sure.”

Virgil began dealing the cards and explaining the rules, and Patton listened attentively. Sure, he knew Virgil probably just wanted to switch things up one last time before he went home. But because it might have been plausible this time, Patton decided to imagine it was because he wanted to spend a little more time with him.

 

When Patton got home late that night, he felt less empty than he had in a long time. It was nice. He felt… content. He had almost forgotten what content felt like.

He curled up underneath his covers, and fell asleep with a faint smile on his face. If only for that night, he thought everything was going to be… okay.

 

Unfortunately, as everybody knows, nothing gold can stay.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you want y'all can blue skadoo your way over to my profile and check out my only other partially published fic lol. It's called Sever and it's basically about what happens to Virgil when he *really* panics.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I didn't really bother to put trigger warnings on the individual chapters because the entire story is about death but I feel like I should put a warning on this chapter: there's another suicide attempt, and it gets pretty heavy. Stay safe y'all. <3

The semester was finally over. It was all anybody could talk about—they were finally being let off for the holidays, and everybody wanted to know what everybody else was going to do over the break. Grades were in, trips were packed for, weddings were discussed, presents were suggested, dates were planned.

To Patton, it seemed as though his fellow students were finally getting a breath of fresh air, just as his oxygen tank ran out.

 

He hated the holidays. He didn’t throw the word ‘hate’ around lightly either—but the season to be jolly was Patton’s least favorite time of the year. Winter breezes carried with them frosty air, as cold as a biting remark, as indifferent as the silent treatment, stinging like a slap. In the winds, he imagined he could hear disappointed voices, long, drawn-out conversations that inevitably ended with raw throats and hot tears. Sweet snacks turned bitter with fear and anger and regret, happiness turned sour under the unrelenting filter of cynicism.

The sun set earlier these days, and Patton was tired.

 

When Patton was dismissed from his last class of the day on the last day of the semester, he headed straight for his dorm. Nobody stopped to say ‘hi’ or ask him about his plans for winter break—nobody knew him well enough for that, nobody cared. Just as well—he didn’t have anything interesting to say anyway.

He slipped into the apartment silently, and wished tears would come.

 

There was a note taped to the microwave. Patton got closer to read it.

 

_Hi Pat!!_

Roman’s work, obviously.

_Logan wanted to talk with his professors about a few things, and then he and I are going out later tonight and won’t be back until after midnight. He said he was going to write this note himself, but he got a little distracted so I decided to do it for him. Happy holidays!_

_-Roman_

 

Patton wanted to be sad. To be miserable, even—to feel anything but this vacuum of nothing, but he simply couldn’t.

It was cold, and he was tired.

 

Patton felt disconnected from himself. As if he were merely a passenger in his own body, rather than the driver. He felt his head turn, saw his feet move, saw himself shuffle into his bedroom. He saw his hand reach to open his bedside drawer and pull out his bottle of antidepressants. He returned to the kitchen and opened the medicine cabinet, retrieving an unopened bottle of Advil, then rummaged through the fridge and found a six-pack of beer Roman had neglected to take back to his own apartment. Patton didn’t drink, but people were always saying not to take your pills with alcohol, right?

 

He made his way back to his car and began driving. He wasn’t sure where he was going, but he couldn’t stay there. He could never do that to Logan.

He opened a can of beer, then the pill bottles. As he drove, he took them a handful at a time. The beer stung his throat and his eyes watered, but he managed to keep himself from coughing everything up. He opened another can and chugged the whole thing, for good measure.

When he finally pulled to the side of the road and killed the engine, Patton was hardly surprised to find he’d made his way to Amarum Bridge. He briefly considered turning around and finding somewhere else to die, but what would be the point of that?

 

It was twilight. The water was fading silver against a purple horizon, and there were no clouds in the sky. The sliver of a waning moon was just beginning to peek out over the treetops.

Patton got out of his car and sat on the hood, and was instantly struck by how quiet it was. No insects sang, no bats chirped, he couldn’t even hear the crashing of the waves against the cliff sides. Maybe it was just the pills, finally getting to him.

 

Something was missing.

Patton glanced around him, then realized what he was looking for. Or rather, who. Had he finally caught Virgil at a time he wasn’t there? He walked towards the bridge and peered out onto the edge, but it was too dark to see anything. What if Virgil was there, but he didn’t want to talk to him?

Patton took a tentative step onto the bridge, then started towards the middle. He slipped through the handrails and sat on the ledge. Maybe it was the silence, maybe it was the isolation, maybe it was the inevitability of death—for the first time Patton could remember, he felt completely… calm. What a strange thing to feel.

 

“Going down?”

Patton flinched, whipping his head around to see the source of the voice only to find Virgil sitting… merely a few feet away, as still as a statue, his dark hoodie allowing him to fade into the shadows. How had he not seen him? How long had he been there?

 

“You can’t stop me this time,” Patton said.

Virgil’s eerily still manner didn’t change in the slightest. All he said was, “I know.”

They sat there together, quiet for a moment. Then,

“Pills?” Virgil asked.

“How did you know?”

“Tremors. You could credit the cold with that, but your pupils are dilated, and your breathing is irregular. Besides,” He added, almost as an afterthought, “You wouldn’t try another attempt here without insurance. Third time’s the charm, I guess.”

Another beat of silence.

 

“Did you write a note?”

Patton looked down, “No.”

“Neither did I,” He said softly. "Most people don’t.”

Patton turned. “You came to jump tonight?”

The faintest expression of bitterness flashed across Virgil’s face, and disappeared just as quickly. “Every night. But I didn’t write a note.”

“Oh.”

Virgil had saved Patton’s life twice, but Patton had always been too distracted to take him seriously when he said he came to jump too. There was a dark pit of guilt in his stomach—or maybe that was just the twisting beginning of nausea. He turned away again.

“I’m sorry,” Patton said softly.

Virgil glanced at him. “Don’t worry about it.”

 

Was it just Patton, or was everything getting blurry? He squinted, and though Virgil noticed, he had the good grace not to mention it. The twisting in his stomach now was getting more prominent by the minute—he tried not to let it show on his face.

“How does dying feel?” Virgil tilted his head curiously.

“I feel—sick. And tired. God, I’m tired. I wasn’t expecting to be so drowsy already.”

Despite the December temperature, Patton was feeling hot—burning even. He took off his cardigan and set it beside him, but a gust of wind snatched it away. His slowing reflexes didn’t kick in until it was too late, and he could to nothing but watch as the jacket that had become so familiar drifted slowly down the chasm until it settled on the surface of the water. It disappeared a moment later.

Patton was tired. He propped his back against the bars of the handrail and sighed, letting his eyelids flutter half-shut.

“Hey, Virgil?” The words were thick in his mouth, and slurred as he delivered them.

“Yeah?” Virgil looked like little more than a black smudge at this point. His voice sounded far away.

“Can you sing me a song?”

“What song do you want me to sing?”

“Any song,” Patton murmured, barely intelligible.

Virgil was silent for a moment. Then, his quiet voice, ragged yet velvet, breathed out the beginning of a tune, which eventually morphed into words, then a song. Patton’s heart thuddedirregularly against his chest and in his ears, but somehow, Virgil’s voice was all he could hear.

 

“ _In my heart’s sequestered chambers lie truths stripped of poet’s gloss._

_Words alone are vain and vacant and my heart is mute._

_In response to aching silence, memory summons half-heard voices,_

_And my soul finds primal eloquence and wraps me in song._

 

_If you would comfort me, sing me a lullaby._

_If you would win my heart, sing me a love song._

_If you would mourn me and bring me to God, sing me a requiem._

_Sing me to heaven._

 

_Touch in me all love and passion,_

_Pain and pleasure._

_Touch grief and comfort, love and passion, pain and pleasure._

 

_Sing me a lullaby._

_A love song._

_A requiem._

_Love me, comfort me, bring me to God._

_Sing me a love song,_

_Sing me to heaven.”_

  

Patton was barely aware of anything besides the agonizing ache in his stomach, the spiking spasms of pain in his chest, his pounding head. He wanted to say thank you, but his mouth wouldn’t respond to his commands. He felt so far away—was this death?

He was dimly aware of Virgil lifting him up, hauling him over the handrail with a learned kind of finesse. He set him down on the bridge, but not before folding his hoodie underneath Patton’s head to act as a pillow. Virgil pulled something from Patton’s pocket, but Patton couldn’t have cared less what it was. After all Virgil had done—tried to do—for him, he deserved to take anything he wanted.

_I never did figure out how he knew my name._

He supposed that was one mystery he would never solve.

 

Patton’s vision was getting darker. His heartbeat was slowing, the feeling in his limbs draining away, coherent thought flickering like a candle. It was all being swept away. A stagnant, freezing, nothing was spilling into him. It filled his chest and trickled into his limbs, taking everything away. There was no name to put to this feeling, but Patton recognized what it was all the same.

Patton closed his eyes.

 

…And woke to Logan shaking his shoulders and screaming.

Everything was wavering and tinged with black. There were lights—they were too bright, far too bright. Logan’s voice bled into a cacophony of other miscellaneous sounds that combined to nothing but incoherent ringing. What was happening? Why wasn’t he dead? Was he dead? He was vaguely aware of the bitter taste of bile in his mouth. _Where is Virgil?_

A different kind of darkness, harsher and churning, overtook him, and he knew no more.

 

 

 

_Tumbling. Falling. Twisting—reaching. Then cold. So cold. The cold wasn’t just around him—it was him. He rose from a deep, dark blackness like a phoenix from the ashes and knew only that he wasn’t supposed to be here._

_He opened his eyes._

 

_Patton was sitting on top of the highest beam of the bridge, overlooking the ocean. He looked below him. On the bridge there was an ambulance and several police cars. Paramedics were rushing to tend to a body—with a prod of surprise, Patton recognized the body as his own. There was a lone figure standing next to the doors of the ambulance, his hands in his hair, on his face, over his mouth. Patton would recognize those glasses anywhere—Logan. He was crying. Patton’s body was lifted onto a stretcher and deposited into the back of the ambulance. Logan crawled in and the doors shut, and the ambulance sped away._

_“Strange, isn’t it?”_

_Patton looked up. Virgil was sitting next to him, surveying the scene with muted interest._

 

_“That was me.” Patton finally said._

_“It was.”_

_“I overdosed.”_

_“You did.” Virgil nodded._

_“Am I dead?”_

 

_Virgil didn’t say anything for a long time. Then,_

_“Things don’t always go according to plan. Circumstances get in the way, people interfere, designs are thrown into chaos. Sometimes, it’s a good thing.” He looked at Patton, and he seemed different somehow. “I don’t know if what I did for you was meant to be. I hope it was.”_

 

_“Am I dead?” Patton asked again._

_Virgil gave him a sly grin._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you haven't guessed already, you probably know wtf is up with Virgil by now ;)  
> (The song Virgil sang to Patton is 'Sing Me To Heaven'. Check it out if you want, it's a beautiful song.)


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> short chapter. what you've all been waiting for lol

Patton’s eyes blinked open to blinding fluorescent lights, and he found himself lying in a hospital bed. He’d been dreaming, he knew, but the details were slipping from his grasp. All he knew was that his head hurt. His stomach hurt. Everything hurt, and then some.

Logan was snoozing in a chair at Patton’s bedside. His glasses were beside Patton’s own on the bedside table, and their absence only accentuated the dark circles under his eyes. His hair was ruffled and untamed, his clothes were wrinkled, he was a mess—a significant change from his typical crisp, sharp, ever-tidy aesthetic.

 

Then, the reason he was in the hospital in the first place returned to him, and a thousand questions flooded his mind at once. He opened his mouth to speak, but only a horrible, hacking cough managed to escape his lips. Logan’s eyes fluttered open immediately.

“Water,” Patton rasped.

Logan found a cup of water and held it to Patton’s lips, and he drank from it greedily.

“Not so fast.” Logan pulled the cup back, “If you drink too much at once, you’ll just vomit it all up later.”

Patton rolled his eyes but obliged, sipping until he was somewhat satisfied, and Logan put the cup back on the table. Only the thrum of machinery occupied their silence.

 

“You attempted suicide.” Logan said.

“Thanks for noticing.”

“This is not a joke, Patton!” Logan snapped. Patton flinched, the heart monitor jumped, and Logan’s face went white. He took a moment to collect himself. “I apologize.”

“It’s fine.” Patton was surprised at how flat his voice sounded. “How did you find me?”

Logan shifted uncomfortably. “One of your friends called me using your phone. He said you had overdosed and that he was going to try to resuscitate you.”

“Virgil.” Patton clenched his jaw, “He was with me when I passed out, I think he took my phone.”

Logan paused, and Patton saw something different in his eyes. A week ago, it might have made his heart flutter. Now, he was just tired. Tired, and angry his plan hadn’t worked.

“What happened?” He finally asked. “After you got the call.”

 

“You were barely breathing when I arrived,” Logan said quietly. A thrill of guilt squirmed in Patton’s stomach. “Roman took my car home so I could go with you.”

Logan looked away for a moment, and Patton saw he was blinking back tears.

“Your heart stopped in the ambulance,” He choked out. “By the time we got to the hospital, you had been dead for twenty-six minutes.” The way he said it made it sound like he’d been counting every second of it. He probably had been. Logan took a shuddering breath and continued on, “In the doctor’s opinion, based on the combination and sheer amount of pills you took, your organs should have been damaged beyond repair. Not to mention, you had been deprived of oxygen for a long enough period that brain damage typically would have set in. But, inexplicably, you only sustained minor injuries, and the doctor expects you to make a full recovery.” Logan wiped his eyes and breathed a heavy sigh, “I am not one for religion, superstition, or anything of the sort. But your survival is nothing short of miraculous.”

While Logan had been talking, one question was swelling in Patton’s mind—now it finally burst from his lips,

“So why am I still _alive_?”

Logan only shook his head, “We don’t know. By all accounts, you shouldn’t be, but you are. And I am immeasurably grateful for that.”

 

Patton wanted to scream all of his fury, frustration, and misery out right there. He was supposed to be dead—he was _supposed_ to be dead! But he swallowed his emotions to ask,

“What about Virgil?”

“There was no one else at the scene.”

 

But Logan once again had looked away at the mention of Virgil’s name. Patton narrowed his eyes—he wasn’t letting this go again.

“What?”

“I think there is something you should know.”

Patton eyed him suspiciously. “What is it?”

Logan wrung his hands together. “Patton, how much do you know about Virgil?”

“What is _that_ supposed to mean?”

Logan searched in vain for adequate words, instead only sighing and leaning farther forwards in his seat. “When last we talked about Virgil, you mentioned you’d only ever seen him at Amarum Bridge. Do you remember this?”

“Yeah.” The day Logan had given him the phone idea.

“Your comment reminded me of something I heard a long time ago.” He glanced around the room, making sure no one was watching them, then took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Virgil Black, twenty-one years old. Black hair, caucasian, thin. Does this sound right?”

“Yeah,” Patton murmured, irritation morphing to disquiet. How did Logan know those things? Even _Patton_ didn’t know how old Virgil was.

Logan looked at him with worry between his brows, lip caught in his teeth. “I regret to be the one to tell you this, Patton, but whoever you’ve been talking to cannot be Virgil Black.”

 

A pit was opening in Patton’s belly, swallowing every thought, every feeling. He was beginning to understand where this was going, but he had to ask anyway.

“Why not?”

Logan finally met Patton’s eyes, face more somber than anything he’d ever seen.

 

“Because Virgil Black jumped off Amarum Bridge in 2007,” He finally said. “He’s been dead for more than ten years.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> and thus the big reveal was posted. and the lord saw that it was good. then the lord declared that the author shall never have inspiration ever again, so she'll just die, i guess. no lol, it's just gonna take awhile to actually remember what i'm doing with this fic. hopefully y'all are still enjoying it <3  
> (i asked this in my other fic but nobody answered so i'll ask it here too: does anybody still read demigod AUs?)


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for ending the three-week hiatus with a short, shitty update. I had some fuckery going down with being out of commission via pneumonia and making up schoolwork, but I'm back now, sorry for leaving you guys hanging :P you've all given me some really uplifting feedback on this story, and I'm really grateful for that. <3

One week later, Patton was declared healthy enough to leave the hospital via the approval of a psych evaluation that stated he was no longer a danger to himself or others.

Lying was always a good way to get one of those. Not mentioning he recently realized his best friend might not exist probably helped too.

 

Patton had a plan—he’d formed it the moment he’d been told Virgil Black was dead. This plan was simple: he was going to go back to the bridge and see what was true for himself. Only, getting there presented a bit of a problem when Logan was watching his every move like a hawk.

For the love of all things holy, couldn’t he leave him alone? Sure, Patton would have killed for this kind of attention from him a month ago, but it wasn’t a month ago, and Logan’s concerns were only getting in the way.

Patton had thought over this problem for quite some time, eventually realizing nothing was going to get Logan off his back but the truth, no matter how ridiculous or illogical it sounded. Then, and only then, might Logan let him go. After that there was only one thing Patton could do: what he always did. Ask nicely.

“Logan?” Patton had asked. “Are you absolutely sure Virgil Black is dead?”

“Positive,” Logan had fixed him with that look that was becoming oh-so frequent now—sickening concern. “I saw the report on T.V. when I was ten years old. It was my first exposure to suicide. I remember everything about that story; I rewatched it several times to make sure I knew what was happening.”

Patton’s stomach twisted uncomfortably, but he pressed onward. “Whatever the truth is, I need to know it. Whether the Virgil I know is an impostor or a figment of my imagination, I think I know how find out for sure.”

“How?”

Patton took a deep breath. “I-want-to-go-back-to-the-bridge,” He blurted.

Logan blinked. “What?”

“I want to go back to the bridge,” Patton repeated. “Every time I’ve been there, I’ve seen Virgil. Therefore, it stands to reason he would be there again.”

“I don’t want you going back there. And your basis is faulty, all things considered.”

“It’s the only place I know to find him! Knowing what’s real and what’s not will at least give me a sense of closure.”

Logan paused, and Patton knew he’d caught him with that.

“Please?” Patton asked quietly.

Logan sighed, rubbing his temples. “Fine,” He said. “But you’re not going alone.”

 

That was how Patton came to be sitting in the passenger’s seat of Logan’s car, staring out the window and pretending not to notice the looks Logan persistently cast his way. For the millionth time, Patton wished that the existing higher power(s) hadn’t spent one of their precious miracles on saving his life—death was far less bothersome than this.

Back in the hospital, Patton had even formulated a plan to kill himself while in the hospital’s care, but had ultimately decided not to. There was too great a risk he would survive again, then they’d _really_ detain him, so he’d put a pin in it for the time being. Not that it had exactly fixed his mental state.

Patton was beginning to recognize his surroundings—they were almost there. He breathed a heavy sigh and leaned back farther in his seat, earning another glance from Logan.

“I don’t approve of this plan,” Logan muttered.

Patton gave him a look. “You agreed to it.”

Logan pursed his lips, but shifted his eyes back to the road and continued driving.

 

The bridge appeared over the crest of the hill, and Patton blinked. He turned away, rubbed his eyes, pinched his arm, making sure what he was seeing was real: for the first time since he discovered the bridge, somebody else’s car was parked at the base.

Logan noticed the disbelieving look on Patton’s face, and took a moment to assess it. “‘Virgil’ doesn’t have an active social life, does he?”

Patton shook his head slowly. He wasn’t sure what this meant—this wasn’t something he’d planned for. What if somebody else’s presence scared Virgil off? He had anxiety, he’d told Patton himself. Though, to be fair, Patton wasn’t sure how much Virgil’s word was worth to him now.

“Would you still like to proceed?” Logan asked.

Patton bit his lip and took a few deep breaths, trying to pull himself together. “Yeah,” He finally sighed.

Logan pulled to the shoulder of the road and killed the engine, and the two of them got out and headed towards the rusting structure. As they passed, Patton gave a sidelong glance to the stranger’s car—an older model, but well-kept. It gave no hints as to what kind of owner it had.

 

The stranger in question was sitting on the edge of the middle of the bridge and Patton’s heart clenched—it took him far to long to realize what he was feeling was jealousy. Jealousy? Over someone ‘stealing his spot’ next to his non-existent friend on the goddamn suicide bridge? What was wrong with him? To make matters worse, just as he’d feared, Virgil was nowhere to be seen.

As if the stranger knew he was being watched, he turned and met Patton’s eyes. He stood up and maneuvered through the handrail, and Patton got a better look at him. Somewhere in his thirties, he wore black everything, including gloves, and a fedora that slightly obscured his face. Was it a trick of the light, or…?

 

“Hello,” Logan said, ever the composed. Patton blinked out of his stupor.

“Are you Patton?” The stranger said as he approached, ignoring Logan entirely. Logan scowled. Patton squinted and realized what he’d seen earlier wasn’t a trick of the light—this man had two different-colored eyes—one a dark, coffee brown, the other an eerie kind of gold.

“I-I…” Patton blinked. “Yes?”

The stranger smirked. “Virgil was just telling me about you.”

“What?” Logan and Patton said at the same time.

He looked between them curiously, then the realization dawned on him, “You’ve found out about his… circumstances, then?”

“‘Circumstances’?” Patton echoed.

“Well, if you have, there’s no use trying to confront him about it now. He vanished when he heard another car coming up the road—he isn’t a fan of crowds.”

“Hold on, so he _was_ here just now?”

 

“Stop,” Logan said coldly. Patton’s mouth snapped shut, as did the newcomer’s. “He’s only feeding your delusions, Patton. Whoever you’ve been seeing is either an imposter or a hallucination, because Virgil is _dead_. _He_ would know.” He pointed an accusing finger at the stranger.

“Me?” He put a hand to his chest, mock-affronted. Then, after a moment, he relaxed his dramatic pretense in favor of curiosity. “You know who I am?”

Patton looked at Logan. “Wait, _do_ you?”

Logan nodded reluctantly. “Do you remember when I said I remembered everything about Virgil’s story on the news? That included the segment during which they interviewed his closest friends, including the people he lived with.” He glared at the stranger. “I recognized him by his heterochromia. Patton, meet Damien Cyrus—Virgil Black’s roommate. His interview was questionable at best, due to his diagnosis as a compulsive liar.”

Patton’s heart dropped. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

“I am not a liar!” Damien protested. He paused, then frowned. “Okay, maybe I am, but everything else I said just now was the truth.”

 

Logan rolled his eyes. “We’re done here. Patton, we’ll come back another day.”

Damien lunged forward, and for a brief moment Patton thought he was going to attack him, but instead he just grasped his hand in his and shook.

“Well, it was _lovely_ meeting you,” Damien gushed, his words thick with what was probably sarcasm. “I’m _sure_ we’ll meet again.”

Patton felt something with weight slip from Damien’s gloved hands into his own. Damien winked so quickly Patton wasn’t entirely sure he saw it, then he pulled away and offered a little mock-salute.

“Toodaloo.”

Patton waved hesitantly; Logan huffed an annoyed sigh and steered Patton away, off the bridge and back to the car.

 

While Logan went around to unlock the door, Patton took a moment to glance and what the object Damien had given him, and had to repress an audible gasp. Within his palm rested his cell phone—the very one Virgil had borrowed from him the night of his overdose. He unlocked it and saw his notes application was open, with one note that hadn’t been there before. He clicked on it.

 

_I’m sorry. Please give me a chance to explain—at the very least, I still have something of yours I’d like to give back._

_-Virgil_

 

Patton’s heart beat in his ears. He put the phone in his pocket and opened the car door, mind racing.

_We’ll see._ He finally promised to himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> anyway coincidentally it's Deceit's birthday today so this update was actually the perfect time to put him in and pfffft yeah I totally did it all on purpose *lying*


End file.
